


A Long Cruel Wandering Snuff Film

by TrashCat



Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Castration, Forced Feminization, Gore, M/M, Strangulation, all in all typical Weddie, poor Waylon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-05
Updated: 2016-01-05
Packaged: 2018-05-11 22:05:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5643532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrashCat/pseuds/TrashCat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Waylon undergoes his operation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Long Cruel Wandering Snuff Film

**Author's Note:**

> This definitely isn't the only on-the-operating-table Weddie fic but I can almost guarantee you it's the only one where Eddie does THIS with a pair of scissors
> 
> I took the liberty of naming Waylon's kids

_It's over. It's done._ Waylon couldn't look away from the ghoulish grin in front of him, even though he wanted to, he wished he could close his eyes, but he was so afraid. He was sure Gluskin could see his heart pounding through his skin. He couldn't move. When Gluskin touched his thigh, it didn't feel like his own. Was he still in the therapy? Maybe after all this he was still in the therapy, still strapped to a chair deep under Mount Massive watching the flickering, twisting images designed to drive him mad.

Gluskin had a knife. It was caked in layers of old blood, and he was inspecting it, humming to himself and rubbing it against his grimy shirtsleeve, leaving a dull red streak. Finally he frowned and set the knife back down on a cart laden with even more filthy instruments.

"I think before we get anything done, I've got to see what I'm working with, darling."

Gluskin grinned even wider, and leaned over Waylon, over the stationary saw blade that Waylon wished would suddenly turn on and gut him right through his ancient tuxedo. _Please, God, if you're there, please give me this, please don't let him touch me, please just kill him right here and I swear I'll be a believer._

No God heard him. His whole body shuddered at the touch of Gluskin's cold hand, shaking the makeshift gynecology table. Gluskin laughed.

"So eager, darling. But not yet. In just a moment, if we're lucky."

Those cold hands prodded at Waylon, roughly pinching the skin around his nipples, trailing down through the hair on his chest and further down, so much further down. _Please, please don't touch there, not there._

The fingers glided deftly away, into the air, at the last minute. Waylon heard himself let out a shaky breath.

"You're perfect, darling. There's only a little work to do...You will be beautiful."

Waylon heard the sound of the saw revving up. Suddenly he was acutely aware of the feeling of the dank cold air on his skin, the wound on his leg, the vibrations coming through the table, the saw cutting closer to him now as Gluskin carefully maneuvered him towards the blade. Cold air entered his lungs like he had never taken a breath before.

"No, please, don't do this! Please, oh god--" His own voice was ragged from lack of use, high-pitched, full of an animal desperation he had heard so many times tonight--but never from himself. "I have a family! I have a wife, I'm married, I have two sons--Shaun's just two, he won't understand--" The saw was an inch away from his skin, less than that, he could feel it cutting through the air. "Please, oh god, my wife!"

Gluskin's grin was uncomprehending. "I'm afraid you're confused, darling." Somehow, though he hadn't raised his voice, it was clear over the buzz of the saw. "But I'll set you right."

And then the saw was in him.

Waylon screamed, he couldn't look but he knew, and when the saw was switched off it still stayed cold and sharp between his legs and his ears were ringing with a high-pitched keening so he didn't even register the loss of the saw's buzzing. Then Gluskin jerked him sharply back and off the saw and he was bleeding, Gluskin wavered in and out of his peripheral vision and came back with shears, and Waylon didn't even feel the thick snips as Gluskin brought the scissors down around the flaps of skin that were useless now. Waylon saw them gathered up in his hands, limp, pale pieces of discarded meat. His penis and testes were thrown to the ground in shreds like food for dogs.

Gluskin said something but the keening was too loud in Waylon's ears. He felt himself fading in and out of consciousness. Was he dying? _Please God, the Devil, the Walrider, please let me die before I find out what he'll do to my corpse._

He did not die. He felt something soft roughly shoved into the wet crater between his legs, and he was sure he screamed, but he did not die. Gluskin was still hovering around, with a damp wad of fabric in one hand and a dull razor in the other.

"Let's clean you up."

Waylon stared up at the distant wooden ceiling, dimly aware of Gluskin moving around him, touching him everywhere, rubbing him with the damp cloth and then scraping over his skin with the razor, and before tonight he would have winced as he lost his hair and the top layer of his skin but not anymore. There was a spider up above them both. It was complacent in its web. It hadn't even been shaken by his screams. Down on the floor below he imagined there were ants, maggots, roaches, none of them knowing or caring what was going on in the world of humans and monsters that claimed to be humans. None of them cared what they were gorging themselves on: Waylon's pride, his manhood, his dignity, the last wound before he ceased to be a man and truly became a living corpse. He would die down here. Anonymous, mutilated, unknown to the world. He had ceased to be a person weeks ago, when he had first signed on with Murkoff, but it had taken him too long to learn that.

"Beautiful," Gluskin sighed, stroking the tender skin on Waylon's leg. The cloth and razor were gone from his hands. "Oh, darling...I know we're not quite done, but I can't help myself. You feel the same way, don't you? Let's take a chance, darling." He fixed Waylon with a steady gaze, then grinned giddily. "Let's make a life together."

Waylon heard the faint sound of a zipper unzipping, the rustling of fabric. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out, as Gluskin heaved himself up onto the table, making it creak under his weight. His pants were bunched around his ankles. He was erect. _Why oh why am I still alive for this,_ he had known it was coming but he hadn't wanted to see it, _fuck my corpse but please don't do it while I'm still alive--_

Gluskin reached between Waylon's legs and pulled out the roll of cloth he had been using to stop up the wound. It was soaked red all the way through and the blood started pouring out of the hole as soon as it was opened again. Gluskin watched the bleeding for a moment, grinning like a skull.

"You're so wet, darling. This eager to be together, so fast? What a naughty girl."

He slid two fingers up inside the wound, dug around, and Waylon started to shudder violently, uncontrollably, like Gluskin had hit some primal fear switch that wouldn't shut off. _Please shut off, please shut off. Please don't play into his sick necro fantasy._ But he heard Gluskin laugh.

"Nervous, darling? A woman's first time always hurts... But I'll be gentle. I want to take care of you. I want you...to enjoy our time together."

The fingers dug around again, and pain spiked in Waylon. He sobbed.

"Shh, sh, sh." Gluskin pulled his fingers out and Waylon saw them. They were bloody up to only the first joint.

"Kill me," Waylon begged. Gluskin reached for the cart, still straddling Waylon's naked body. He grasped the heavy shears. Waylon screamed again. "Please, please kill me!! Gluskin...Eddie, please, kill me, please!"

It was like Gluskin hadn't heard him at all. He laid the heavy scissors down between Waylon's legs.

"Grit your teeth, darling," he said in a sing-songy, pleasant voice. "We have to break your hymen."

Waylon felt one blade of the scissors roughly but slowly enter his asshole. The other blade rested just inside the wound. For the first time, he tugged against his restraints. They were weak, the wood was wet and rotten and the rope was poorly tied, his heart and his wounds were throbbing and he felt suddenly that even if it was the last thing he did he could push off his rapist, he could break the table and--

With a grunt of effort, Gluskin pushed the scissors closed. Waylon's dim vision went black.

\--

He was awoken by the first shove.

Piss soaked the table, mixing with the blood and probably shit pouring out of his wound. The Groom didn't care. Gluskin's face was an inch from his, warm breath on Waylon's damp skin.

"You feel...so wonderful, darling." Gluskin's cock prodded inside him again, and again, not stopping, coaxing out more fluid, undifferentiated now. Waylon wished he could close his eyes. "It feels...like home."

Gluskin's wet mouth touched Waylon's neck, not kissing, but tasting, slobbering. His hands closed tight on Waylon's chest, grabbing fistfuls of muscle and fat and skin. Waylon felt the bruises forming in his grip.

"We'll fill you out up top," Gluskin whispered. "I promise--I'll make you beautiful. You already are beautiful. The most beautiful woman in this disgusting place." Rutting against Waylon's guts--places that were never meant to be touched by human hands, let alone anything else--he let out a dreamy moan. "Just think of our children."

Waylon thought of his children. He thought of Aiden, tiny pink hands curled around a toy truck, and Shaun, asleep against his side. The way they had been the last time he'd seen them. Just a few boxes unpacked in their brand new house, the floor a vast expanse, perfect for plastic train tracks. When he'd finally lifted himself up off the couch, and Shaun had settled into the warm indentation he'd left--when the babysitter smiled, and said good luck at your new job, and he had climbed into the car next to his wife, and Aiden had been watching them drive away--

When Lisa had kissed him one last time, before he stepped into Mount Massive and forfeited his right to a happy death--

For the first time, knowing that no one would ever find his body brought him something close to comfort.

All the blood had drained from his arms and legs, tied up to the poles around the table. It was all leaving him, flowing down the table, down Gluskin's thighs, soaking his pants, dripping onto the floor. Exhausted. But he couldn't sleep with the throbbing spike Gluskin was driving into him, over and over. He felt himself try to squeeze his legs shut but they were tied too tightly for his drained limbs to move. Gluskin's slimy mouth with its foul breath slid wetly up Waylon's neck towards his jaw and Waylon twisted his head away, the only movement he was free to make anymore.

He found himself looking straight into the eye of the camcorder. The battery light was still on--everything had been filmed. Had Gluskin pointed it at him on purpose? Was it a coincidence?

The notes he had scrawled to Lisa were with his clothes, wherever those were. If they were lost, this video was the only record left of his futile journey. A long, cruel, wandering snuff film. He couldn't look away from the lens. He felt himself moving like a ragdoll under Gluskin's weight.

Coarse bloody hands settled roughly around his neck. Gluskin said something but he wasn't sure what it was, like he was deaf to everything but his own heartbeat. The hands tightened.

Copper and salt filled Waylon's mouth, his nose, his eyes.

"I love you," Waylon choked, to the camera discarded on the cart, to Lisa, miles away.

This time, when he blacked out, he didn't wake up.

**Author's Note:**

> There's too much fluffy Weddie & Weddie fic where Waylon survives overall, smh...glad I could help


End file.
